Queen in Chains
by Rockstar with a Vendetta
Summary: One-Shot. Alanna ponders just what kind of queen she would have made.


**New one-shot, this time with Alanna. Hope you like it!**

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"You're looking a little lonely there, Fire-Top. Mind if a fellow recluse joins you in the corner?"

"Go on then," Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau sighed, though not unkindly, gesturing toward the chair beside her. "I suppose we wallflowers should stick together. And it's Lady Fire-Top to you, Goldenlake."

"Whatever happened to _Sir_ Fire-Top?" Raoul teased. He took the seat beside her, stretching out his massive legs out in front of him. Even sitting down, his torso dwarfed that of the short, stocky young woman beside him.

"I'm supposed to be a lady tonight," she replied dryly. "Thayet thought it would be the best present to give on her birthday. I think she just wanted the entertainment."

Raoul chuckled. "Well, you look very nice, milady, even if you do clash ever so slightly with our dear queen's choice of colors.'

At the same time, they both glanced uneasily around at the banners and curtains strung around the room, all scarlet and cream—colors that flattered Queen Thayet beautifully but did little for some of her guests, particularly Alanna, who defiantly wore an amethyst gown. With a hint of mischief, Alanna flashed a smile at him.

"Oh, I think purple goes quite well with red," she said airily, waving her hand. "Surely even you can see that, Raoul."

"I see that you're colorblind," he snorted. "Say, where's your date? I thought George would have come."

"Where's yours?" she shot back irritably.

He was silent for a moment as he watched her, and she wondered a little guiltily if she had genuinely offended him. Then he said quietly, "Gone again, is he?"

Alanna looked away, but she knew he saw her unhappiness. Because she found it easy to talk to Raoul, who shared much in common with her, she said quickly, "It's just hard now. I love my children, though Goddess knows they try my patience, but whenever George is at home we never have alone time because the little ones are always underfoot. Then, when we're both gone, I always think of them and worry about them. I know it's unhealthy for children to not have parents always present, and I feel so bad for leaving them sometimes."

"Well, I think that's the root of your problem," Raoul told her cheerfully. "You're a knight, and you're an adventurer. It's in your blood to travel and fight and do all kinds of famous things, not just be a mother. Here's an idea—tell Thayet to use Pirate's Swoop as a retreat to go to with her children when you're gone. That way you can go off without worrying about your little imps, and they'll have somebody to play with. I'm sure Thayet would love to have some place she could go to sneak away from Jon."

Alanna laughed out loud. "You know, Raoul, you might have thought of something that could actually work."

Raoul grinned back, his black eyes snapping. "My ideas always work, Fire-Top."

"There you two are," someone exclaimed. "Thayet's beginning to think you're not enjoying yourselves."

"Really?" Raoul said dryly. "Whatever gave her that idea?"

"Perhaps she noticed Alanna trying to melt into the woodwork," Buriram said, amused, "or else she noticed a big lump behind the draperies. Oh, the king wants a word with you," she continued, suddenly very brisk. "Something about Eldorne and the King's Own."

"What is it now?" Raoul asked, exasperated, but he reluctantly unfolded his limbs to stand up. He easily towered over the short, stocky K'miri woman. "He already gave me a good talking-to about taking on Lerant."

"What did you say back to him?" Alanna asked, suddenly curious.

She knew all about the king's displeasure over his close friend's desire to hire Delia of Eldorne's nephew as standard-bearer for the King's Own, but she didn't know what Raoul's response was. Although Jonathan's unhappiness was understandable, she could not help but pity Lerant. He had to have been merely eleven or twelve, yet more than likely had been living with the traitorous mark of Eldorne his whole life. He would find it difficult to find a job—any job—and Raoul's offer would be the best he could take.

"I told him he was just miffed Delia liked his cousin better," came the cheerful reply.

Alanna blinked. "You didn't."

"Oh, I did," Raoul said. "Can't say he was too happy with it either."

"I imagine not," Buri muttered. "Gods you take forever to get moving—I never thought a big man-creature like you should be so slow."

Raoul flashed another one of his quick, dark grins, completely unruffled. "Let's move along then, Buriram. Must not keep His Majesty waiting."

Buri disappeared into the crowd, but Raoul paused. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I'll be back as soon as Jon spits me out."

Alanna smiled. "Get along then, laddy-me-buck. I doubt I'll move anytime soon."

She watched him retreat, chuckling as people struggled to get out of his way. He was almost inhumanly large—not just big and stocky like Gareth, but muscular and broad and _tall_. She sighed, settled her skirts awkwardly around her, and resigned herself to waiting for the celebration to end.

Hardly ten minutes had passed before a quiet rippled throughout the room, beginning from those farthest away from Alanna to those on the outset of the crowd, like her. Heads turned, focusing attention to the front. She herself stood up, curious as to what was going on. Finding herself unable to see anything, she glanced surreptitiously around to make sure no one was watching and then stood on her chair to see better. She now had a clear view of Jonathan and Thayet up front, and saw that Jonathan had stood up.

"I give thanks for your attendance at this lovely celebration," he smiled. His clear blue eyes scanned the crowd. Something in Alanna constricted. "You are all welcome here. Subjects, friends—political adversaries," he added wryly, glancing askance at someone to his right. Perhaps a Genlith or a Cavall. There were a couple chuckles around the room. "My wife is one year older, though no less beautiful," he said, bowing to Thayet. She made a small _hum_ of suspicion, drawing forth more quiet laughter.

_That could have been me._

The thought was so utterly out of place that Alanna let out a loud "Ha!", and several people turned around to glare ferociously at her. Embarrassed, she scowled back at them, and after a minute they turned back to face the king and queen.

Jonathan was saying more, but for some reason Alanna was not really listening anymore. He was speaking of the economy and other matters, probably promising such-and-such things as he always did at any celebrations. It was an old speech, and her mind was drifting to a question she had never thought about before—or, at least, had pushed in the back of her mind—

_What kind of queen would I have made?_

Alanna thought it was quite irrelevant, considering she had no desire to dress up in frilly dresses and negotiate with arrogant nobles, but for some reason she could not seem to rein in her imagination. What colors would she have picked out for her birthday celebration? Of course, she instantly thought of purple, but what else could go with purple? And really, when it came down to it, could she really choose _purple_ for a formal celebration…?

"Why am I even thinking about this?" she asked out loud.

"_Shh!_" a woman in red hissed.

Affronted, Alanna opened her mouth to say something very ugly indeed, and then closed it. Now was probably not the best time to unleash her famous temper.

_If I were queen, there would never be a good time to unleash it._

That was true, too; Alanna had observed countless times when Thayet had diplomatically kept her mouth shut when the fury was in her eyes. Those times, Alanna had dragged the queen to the stables for a ride so that she could vent. But Alanna herself would not have had someone so understanding, she knew. Maybe Raoul or Gary, if they were close at hand, but Raoul had been put in charge of the King's Own long ago and Gary was often busy with paperwork nowadays.

She could see it now: she and Jonathan, dining with a couple of nobles—maybe a Groten and a Stone Mountain—delicately debating the plight of commoners, perhaps, or designs for a new bridge in a certain area. Groten is getting old, his hands are shaking, but he's too proud and frugal to take tonics for it. His arm jerks; he knocks a goblet over and the contents slosh all over her dress. He apologizes smoothly, reaching for cloths to pat her dry, but Alanna is not fooled. He used his illness as a cover for purposely spilling the wine. He had never liked her, most of the conservatives did not. She was unrefined and rough, a pretender-queen. She cannot control her tongue on this one and says something sharp, probably calling him a clumsy oaf or an empty-headed courtier. Whatever she says, it will anger him and he will stalk out of the room. Stone Mountain might cough into his hand, hiding a snicker, and after a snide comment he would follow Groten.

_And then Jonathan would be _furious_. I'd've upset the fragile balance between progressive king and conservative subjects. I would cause a mess of problems with that whole lot. Of course, I do now, but it would mean more if I was queen. Goddess, that would be a nightmare._

All of a sudden, Alanna was brought back to herself. Around her, everyone was clapping enthusiastically, and Jonathan was sitting down. She quickly joined in the applause, and stopped when Thayet took Jonathan's place. She began to speak in a clear, strong voice, but Alanna stopped pretending to pay attention. Tonight, the queen looked exotically beautiful, or at least more than usual. Her gown was of scarlet and cream, flattering her soft complexion. It was simple, unadorned with bows and layers, so that the eye was drawn to the jewels around her neck and on her fingers. Thayet had always been more than what Alanna had been, with her coils of black hair and thick-lashed hazel eyes, with a strong nose that did not take away from her beauty but instead gave it character. Hers was that that commanded attention, grace, and nobility.

Alanna pictured herself in a gown similar to that. Probably purple, as always. Her red hair and violet eyes allowed her to match little else. It, too, would be simple, but it would not emphasize her features like it did with Thayet. The most she could boast was being the most _unusual_-looking queen, but certainly not the most beautiful. She would probably have to grow her hair out—her curls would have to go through torture to be neat. Gods, she would have to wear face paint—all very well every now and then when she desired ladylike things, but not at every function, for everyone but herself. The picture she had formed in her mind was that of an unhappy woman, a queen in chains.

The speech Thayet made was considerably shorter than Jonathan's, and she sat down again to more applause. Jonathan took her hand, raised it to his lips; she smiled at him with all the patience and love a wife should have for her husband.

Alanna thought of George. She knew she was the kind of wife he desired, with exactly the kind of lifestyle they both craved: one of adventure and battle, but always with a home and family to which they could return. And then, the question she had been dreading, but somehow knowing it would come up, once she realized the trail of thought would not stop—

_What would it be like as Jonathan's wife?_

A constant fight, she knew without even thinking about it. Alanna could not deal with his arrogance, his pride, and his many flaws—that was why she said _no_ in the first place. They loved each other, but they were not in love. And she knew what it would have been like in later years—the celebrations, the manners, the obligations of a queen. She was bred for battle, and being queen would mean being chained. She would have had to watch everything she did to avoid offense.

_And what of the children…?_

Three were enough for her. When Alan and Alianne were born eight months ago, Alanna knew that there would be no more births. George was simply content with his little ones. But with Jon, three would have just been the beginning. Tortall had learned her lesson with Roger—when there was but one royal child, the claim to the throne was far less stable. Jonathan wanted the Conte line secure, and that meant multiple children. Already Tortall had two princes and two princesses, and Thayet had already confided to Alanna that she suspected another was on the way.

Chains.

Alanna had never been vulnerable to silly daydreams of marrying a handsome prince and becoming queen, and she was not about to start now. Thayet could have her colorful dresses and famed looks; she could bed the king and bear his children; but Alanna would have none of it. The mere thought of it gave her the shivers. She longed for George more than ever, for the sweet reminder that she was married to a scoundrel and had born _his_ babies, and that when all this was over she did not have to go to bed with him because it was her duty but because she was free to do as she pleased.

"Alanna," came a familiar voice, sounding as though he were trying not to laugh, "why in Mithros' name are you standing on a chair?"

Alanna blinked, glanced over. Jonathan stood beside her, his arms crossed and eyebrow cocked, watching her with deep amusement. Behind him, Thayet hid a smile; Raoul used no pretense and chuckled to himself. She pointed accusingly at Jon.

"I would never have given you more than three," Alanna told him.

"What?" he asked, puzzled. His amusement was slowly giving way to confusion, but he kept his smile. "Three what?"

"And my celebrations could have been done in purple if I wanted them to," she continued. "By gods, it's my birthday!"

"Quite so," Raoul said, straight-faced.

"I never said your birthday couldn't be done in purple," Jonathan said, stumped. "And when did _you_ ever _want_ celebrations?"

"Alanna, did you fall too far into your cups?" Thayet asked kindly.

"And, you know," Alanna said, a little angry now, "it would be a little rude and not at all understanding if you got mad at me when Groten spilled his wine on me on purpose. So what if I yelled at him? He deserves far worse than being called a clumsy oaf!"

"You yelled at Groten?" Jon asked, seeming to be having trouble keeping up. "I didn't know you even dined with him."

"I knew his disease was a farce," Thayet declared. "Jon, I will not have him sit by me anymore. If he dares to spill wine on Alanna, who knows what he'll get away with near me?"

"It would never have worked, Jonathan," Alanna said firmly.

The knowledge somehow sobered her. She sighed as she stepped off the chair. Turning to Jonathan, she patted his arm. "It never would have worked," she repeated. This time, it made her happy, knowing that she had not missed out on anything after all. "Happy birthday, Thayet," she added, nodding to the queen. Thayet stared.

Alanna left. She belatedly realized that she made quite a fool of herself, but it was probably too late now to go back and explain. Explanations could wait until morning. She was tired, now, and she made her way back to her palace rooms to sleep.

Except—

She unlocked her door and opened it. For a minute she stared. For a roguish young man with a cheeky smile lounged lazily on her bed, as though he had been waiting there forever. He was dirty, and his hair was greasy, and his body odor was questionable, but to Alanna he had never looked so beautiful.

"_George_," she cried, and threw herself into his arms.

"Ah, lass," George murmured into her hair, while he held her with all the tenderness he possessed, "I missed you too, darlin'."

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**This was supposed to be a serious fic...but really, when is anything serious when Raoul is involved? Reviews would be appreciated!**


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